Buffering
by rscoil
Summary: Erik has been messaging another composer online for a few months. A video call might be a turning point in their relationship.


"What are you staring at?"

Navid shrugged. "You haven't laughed in a long time. I guess I was staring because I forgot what that looked like."

Erik glowered up at him from his seat on the couch. "You've seen. Now, move along."

"Nope. Not until you tell me what's so funny."

"Just a meme. Don't worry about it."

Navid shook his head. "It wouldn't be from that girl you've been messaging, would it?"

"It might."

"You should ask her out."

Erik rolled his eyes. "I don't go out if I can help it. You know that."

"Fine. Then sit here all alone and mope. On Valentine's Day, nonetheless." Navid headed for the door. "I, on the other hand, am accompanying a beautiful lady to dinner. Don't wait up."

The door closed behind him and Erik turned his attention to his laptop.

He'd managed to send off a quick "Lol" before Navid had interrupted. Now, he saw Christine's response.

_Just lol? I laughed for 5 minutes straight!_

_**That's the trouble. I actually laughed out loud and my roommate interrupted.**_

_My work here is done! :D_

_Actually, I'm surprised you're online tonight. I figured you'd be off romancing some girl with your violin._

_**Not quite lol. What about you?**_

_Quiet night alone._

_Well, not really alone since we're chatting._

_**No, I suppose not.**_

_I've never asked you...Are you dating anyone?_

_**No. Are you?**_

_Nope._

Truth be told, Erik _had _thought of her romantically. He'd never met anyone who was so easy to talk to. Six months of online chats, and he was never bored. If he wanted to bring up romance, now was his chance to act.

But Christine was still typing.

_Maybe I've seen too many sappy movies, but it feels lame to be single on Valentine's, you know?_

_**I know the feeling.**_

_And I was thinking that it might help if I could hear you. Your voice, maybe some music. What do you think?_

Erik felt a lump form in his throat. His hands hesitated over the keys. She'd been hinting at this for a while. He could send her music files all he liked, but she wanted to hear him. Really hear him.

_**I suppose I could be persuaded.**_

_Awesome! We could even video chat if you want. I mean, I look a mess right now, but it might be easier than trying to talk and play over the phone._

She looked a mess? Erik shook his head. She could be lime green and she would still be lovely. She was Christine, after all. As for him…

_**Christine, you know I'm fairly self conscious of the way I look. I don't know if that's a good idea.**_

_It can't be that bad._

_**It can.**_

_It's not._

_**Christine, you don't know what you're asking.**_

_Maybe not, but how can I know if you don't let me see?_

Why did she always have a good point?

_**Okay.**_

Erik sent the message before he could chicken out and snatched his mask from the coffee table. He quickly set it in place and accepted the incoming call.

A tumble of frizzy brown curls filled the frame. She wore oversized glasses that he found rather endearing. Her brows furrowed as she looked into the webcam.

"Erik?"

"Hello."

Her face split into a wide grin. "I knew it. Even your speaking voice is beautiful. Do you understand how obsessed I am with the vocal pieces you send me? I could listen for hours."

"I could say the same." Under the mask, Erik felt his cheeks grow warm from the praise.

She closed her eyes in contentment. "Honestly, you could read the phone book and it would be beautiful." She sat up and peered at her screen. "How can you see anything? It's so dark. You'll ruin your eyes."

Erik reached over and turned on the lamp, feeling far too exposed in the light.

"Are you wearing a mask?"

For a moment, he considered lying to her. After all, the mask was made to look like a normal face, at least from afar. With the resolution of the webcam, it was just possible that she might believe him. But what if they met in real life?

He shook himself from that train of thought. After all, it was unlikely that they would ever meet in person. Still, he couldn't lie to her.

"Yes, I am."

Her lips sank into a frown. "Why?"

"My face, Christine."

"But there was only a minute between when you agreed to this and when I started the call. Does that mean you wear the mask all the time?"

He exhaled, the air blowing through the false nose of the mask. "I wear it frequently enough."

"Does your roommate know what you look like?"

"Are we playing Twenty Questions, Christine?" He watched her face fall and hurriedly answered. "But yes. He has seen my face."

"Then it's possible that I could see, too?"

"He's the first and only person out of seven billion to look at me without disgust."

"Let me be the second."

"You won't let this drop, will you?"

"No, I won't." She bit her lip. "I'm not trying to pry. I just can't imagine a friendship where I can't be trusted with something as simple as the sight of your face. I mean, you know how many horror movies I watch. It can't be that bad."

"We'll see how well that statement ages."

To his surprise, Erik found that he wanted to see her reaction. She was right. Their friendship, or whatever it might become, would suffer if he didn't trust her with this. Part of him would always be convinced that the whole thing was a lie. There would always be the whisper of doubt, the certainty that she could only tolerate him because she couldn't see his face.

He'd lost count of the late nights spent sending music back and forth. She was the only person he trusted to hear his compositions, even as she trusted him with hers. Bar by bar and note by note, he'd bared his soul. She hadn't run away.

Christine never ran away. It was there in the bold notes she favored. It was there in the brass sections she used in her compositions. Christine was as stubborn as he was. She wouldn't back down.

On this, it was his turn to yield.

With quivering hands, he reached for the mask. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Her jaw dropped as the mask came off. Her face was frozen in horror on the screen.

And then her image disappeared, replaced by the feed from his own webcam. He stared at his mockery of a face.

The face that drove her away.

He almost threw the laptop across the room. Tears began to flow and he let them. How foolish, to hope she might overlook it. For one shining moment, he'd been able to convince himself that his face didn't matter. It wouldn't matter to her.

How wrong he'd been.

Anger, sadness, shame, betrayal, and embarrassment filled his mind in equal measure. He was drowning in his own whirlpool and couldn't bring himself to care. It was thanks to caring that he was in this predicament, after all. If this was caring, then he wanted no more of it.

He didn't expect much from other people. He could tolerate the stares, the whispers. It didn't matter what people thought. He refused to be ashamed of his own face. At least, that was what he told himself. Some days, he even believed it.

Christine. Christine heard his music, but even his greatest beauty wasn't enough. Once again, he was shackled by his deformity.

His sobs filled the silent apartment. There was no music now, only the rush of feeling and the solitary beating of his heart.

A new sound broke in and his laptop screen flared to life. Christine's icon filled the screen like a beacon guiding him to shore.

He replaced the mask and approached the computer. With shaking hands, he answered the call.

Christine's worried face filled his screen. "Erik, I don't know what happened. The call just dropped. One thing I'll say about video calls, they always stop at the worst time."

There was a long silence. He stared at the screen in disbelief. She was back. Christine was back.

"Erik? Say something. Are you okay?"

"You came back." Disbelief dripped from his voice.

"Of course I did. It was the connection that flaked out, not me. Did you think I wouldn't come back?"

Erik didn't meet her eyes as he returned the computer to his lap.

"You put the mask back on? You don't have to wear it if you don't want to." She looked down, guilt evident on her face. "I'm sorry for my initial reaction. I don't know how much you saw before it cut out, but I know I overreacted. You warned me and you were so brave to trust me. I feel like I let you down. I'm so sorry."

Erik had the sudden, ridiculous urge to laugh. "I believe this is the first time anyone's ever apologized to me. I don't know what to say."

"Can you forgive me?"

Erik gave her an appraising look as he reached for the mask. Each movement was slow and deliberate. "I don't begrudge you your reaction. It's a lot to take in. I don't enjoy looking at it myself." He removed the mask with a flourish. "There's nothing to forgive from your original reaction. The second, I think, will be more telling."

To her credit, Christine didn't flinch as the mask came away. Instead, she leaned forward. "Have you been crying?"

"I may have had a moment while the connection was down."

"Oh, Erik." Understanding dawned on her face. "You thought I was scared and wasn't coming back." She reached toward the camera, as though she meant to cup his face in her hand. "I wouldn't do that to you."

Erik could have sworn he felt the warmth of her hand. An imagined touch, and there it was again: the flame of hope.


End file.
